Promises: Part I (Bounty Hunters Book 1) (7 page)

He could hear the woman’s banshee cries like she had a bullhorn pressed directly against his ear. She was yelling at someone to run… to go. Duke was on his belly. There were loud footsteps around him but he couldn’t see faces. He wasn’t capable of lifting his head, but through squinted eyes he could see the shiny chrome of his weapon on the floor against the wall. He felt if he could just get to it everything would be all right. Sirens wailed. Shots were still being fired. Someone was firing a shotgun or else Duke’s head was so sensitive, every sound was amplified. He pushed off with one knee, but something hard and unforgiving landed across his lower back, followed by another blow and another and another. His last thoughts before he blacked out were of his guys. He hoped they’d at least made it out. Then he welcomed the darkness. Anything to stop the pain.

Duke wasn’t sure where he was or who he was with, but he knew he’d never been as scared in his entire life. He could hear voices, sort of. Faraway sounds, like he was in a tunnel or underwater. His eyes fluttered open but he quickly shut them. The light was blinding and his head felt like someone was driving a corkscrew threw the back of his skull. What the fuck is happening? He was confused. He wanted to try to conjure up memories of his last activities, but it seemed that doing so made his head hurt worse. He realized a few seconds later that he was in an ambulance.

He could hear snatches of the conversation.

“Caucasian male, 45 years old… Unconscious at the scene… Blunt force trauma… Vital signs… Heart rate 112. ETA three minutes.” Duke’s eyes fluttered again. The pain was so severe he wished someone would knock him out again. No sooner had he drifted away than his body was jostled hard and he groaned aloud, his head noting its disapproval of that sound. Next thing he knew, he was moving fast, away from the daylight and into an artificially lit corridor. The smell hit him fast. Antiseptics and chemicals. He was obviously in a hospital, but Duke just wanted to go home and sleep for days. He hoped he got a good doctor who would quickly take pity on him and drug him back to oblivion.

“Duke! Duke! We’re here! Hang in there, man!”

Duke’s eyes danced around him. Quick. Quick was there, close by. He sounded afraid. Duke sighed softly in relief, only meeting slight resistance when he tried to take in more air. At least his best friend was fine. He wondered how bad off he was. When he was wheeled into the room, it immediately came alive with people: nurses, white coats; sounds overloaded his senses, beeping and whirring of machines, what felt like thousands of hands touching him at once. He was trying to breathe through the pain but he couldn’t. Just wasn’t able to take in enough air. He was so confused and dizzy. What was happening to him? It felt almost like an out of body experience.

“BP and oxygen level are dropping.”

“We need a CT, stat. Alert the trauma surgeon and prep an OR.”

OR? OR? As in surgery? 

“Sir. Sir. Can you hear me?”

Fuck yes! Stop yelling. Duke groaned. He didn’t think he could muster much else. “P-pain.”

“I know. Hold on. We’re gonna take care of you. I’m Dr. Robertson, the trauma surgeon. We got a lot going on trying to catalogue all your injuries. It appears you have some internal injuries that we need to asses first. I’ll get you something for the pain as fast as I can.”

“My guys,” Duke croaked.

“You got a couple of men outside talking to the police. Don’t try to talk anymore, sir.”

That wouldn’t be a problem. Duke felt a sharp pinch in the crook of his arm; it was only seconds before he began to float. Mmm, that’s much better. He didn’t feel the pain as much as he felt the pressure on his chest. Like someone was sitting on him. He felt his bed moving, his eyes would barely open, but he could see the ceiling moving, too. Where were they taking him? He couldn’t talk, was too drowsy to form a complete thought. Was he going to surgery already? Wait! Wait! Duke closed his eyes. He couldn’t let negative thoughts in if he was indeed about to go under the knife for the first time in his more than forty years of life. He inhaled a very shallow breath and thought of something that made him happy. Ahhh, my honey. He thought of Vaughan.

When Duke woke again, it was pitch dark. In and outside. Memories immediately flooded him. He was in the hospital because a skip and a crazy meth-head junkie bitch had beat the shit out of him. He had no clue how long he’d been asleep or even if it was still the same day. He was sure he was still in the hospital because of the smell, the sounds, and of course the terribly uncomfortable bed. Trying to move, he realized that he had limited mobility. There were wires and cords everywhere. Had he had surgery already? He lifted his right arm to his face and winced when something rock solid connected with his sensitive cheek. He squinted in the darkness, using his other hand to feel around. With his dry lips open in shock, his breathing was even shallower; he realized he had a cast on his right arm. He hoped that was the extent of his injuries but had a sinking feeling it was just the beginning of a long list of ailments.

Duke must have fallen asleep again because the next thing he remembered was the doctor waking him. “Sir. Mr. Morgan. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Duke fought hard enough to finally pry his eyelids open. He was so exhausted, like he’d run a marathon he hadn’t trained for.

“Good. I’m Dr. Chauncey. I’ve been your treating physician since you came out of surgery this morning. You’re in the nephrology unit.”

This morning. So it’s the same day? Neph… neph what? Duke grimaced when a jolt of pain shot up his spine to the back of his skull. “You still experiencing a lot of pain? Can you tell me your pain level on a scale of one through ten, ten being the most severe?” Dr. Chauncey said all this while looking in his eyes with a bright light on the end of his pen.

Duke finished processing what the doctor said and he finally managed a garbled, “Eight.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure the nurse starts a PCA soon. I wanted to talk to you about the injuries you sustained today.”

The doctor’s face looked like he’d rather be anywhere but there about to say what he had to. “Mr. Morgan, you came into the ER this morning with multiple contusions to your face and body. Quite a few superficial wounds and a badly fractured radius that we casted pretty quickly.” The doctor paused and pulled up a stool. He sat gingerly and looked Duke in his eye when he spoke. “You also suffered two cracked ribs which caused concern that fragments may have broken off and caused internal bleeding. There is some internal injury and we repaired as much as we could in hopes we can take a closer look when the swelling goes down. However, the CT scan showed considerable damage to your kidneys from a beating you sustained during your attempted apprehension. It appears that both kidneys are badly damaged and you’ve been diagnosed with a grade five kidney injury.”

“What’s this mean, doc? I need surgery? Dialysis or some shit?” Duke murmured. His throat felt like sharp blades were slicing down it.

The doctor looked extremely uncomfortable. “Um. No. As of this morning your kidneys have not been able to do their job, which is filtering contaminants and expelling them through your urine. Which you’ve produced very little of since you’ve been here. I’m afraid you are in acute kidney failure.”

“Fuck,” Duke said solemnly. That was bad.

“One of the kidneys is completely inoperable, the other is in pretty bad shape and can’t be repaired enough that it could function as your sole kidney.”

“What are you saying, doc? Spit it out honestly. Am I going to die?”

“Unfortunately, because your kidneys were damaged by blunt force trauma, it limits a lot of what most kidney failure candidates are eligible for as far as alternative treatments because they either have one working kidney or their condition was not immediate onset. Soon, you’ll be in chronic kidney failure, at which time we typically start a patient on hemodialysis treatments until a donor becomes available. But… but because of the other internal injuries you suffered, you won’t be deemed a suitable candidate for dialysis. If you did try it, your life expectancy would be considerably shorter than typical. But you’d stay on the machine that will do the job your kidneys can’t until....”

“Until I die,” Duke whispered.

“Well. Until you choose not to receive dialysis anymore and are taken off the machines… and then… yes… soon after… you’ll die. Or you stay on it until your name comes up on the donor list.”

“Donor list?”

The doctor looked hesitant. “Um. Yes, sir. I’ve already started running the necessary additional test to submit your name, but unfortunately, some patients wait as long as ten years to become eligible. In the interim, if you did start dialysis, your entire life would have to change. You couldn’t do much physical activity at all or especially work as a—”

“Wait. You telling me I couldn’t be a bounty hunter anymore either!” Duke was panicking. There was no other word to describe it. His life was done. On a machine for years, living as a damn near vegetable. He couldn’t do it. He’d rather die.

“All this from a few kicks to my back.” Duke grumbled.

“Sir according to the police report. You blacked out during the beating, but you were hit more than just a few times and it was bat and a pipe. The kicks are what probably broke your ribs. The kidneys are pretty well protected by your back muscles, but the type of force with which you were hit can definitely injure them beyond repair.”

“If I don’t do the dialysis.” Duke gulped a breath, his eyes stinging with moisture. “How long would I have?”

“I’m sorry to say… Only weeks. You are already stage five. You would however, be made comfortable during that time.”

Duke turned his head as a tear rolled down the side of his face into his hairline. He wasn’t ready to go.

“Sir. Do you have any family members that could be possible donors?”

“No. My parents are deceased and I’m an only child. My only living relative is my aunt and she’s in a nursing home.”

“I’m going to continue to do workups with your blood and look over your chart. If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know. I’m also going to get a third opinion.” The doctor stood up but Duke didn’t have any words. If he spoke right now he’d start bawling. “You have friends in the family waiting room, would you like me to go ahead and speak to them?”

Duke knew it was the easy way out, but he didn’t think he could look Quick in the eye and tell him he was about to die. Oh god, Vaughan. Duke closed his eyes and prayed silently. 

Vaughan had run to the bathroom, his father hot on his heels as he shouldered into the first stall and emptied everything in his stomach. Duke was dying. Had literally been beat to death. No fucking way! God could not be so cruel. He’d done everything right in his life so he could be the man worthy of Duke’s love and when he was right there, their chance was being taken away.

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” Vaughan snapped, backing out of the stall, facing his father who looked just as helpless as him.

“I know, son. I know. It’s not fair. But life happens and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”

“I can’t lose him now!” Vaughan screamed.

His dad pulled him into his big arms and held him tight. Held him until he didn’t feel like ramming his head into the bathroom wall. He needed to get his shit together. Vaughan stood taller and angrily wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Dad, just give me a minute, okay?”

Quick rubbed his shoulder. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go see Duke now.” He squeezed him tight. “You pull yourself together, Vaughan. Duke needs us to be strong.”

Vaughan’s sob startled him. “I know. I understand. Just… just give me some time alone.”

As soon as he was alone, Vaughan thought he might be able to compose himself, but when he thought of going on without Duke, he slid down the wall and cradled his head in his hands, letting the tears flow freely. Damn, when was the last time he’d cried? Now he couldn’t stop. His love was dying, a part of him drifting right along with him. Vaughan felt so helpless and out of control. His life was all about scheduling and planning. This was not a part of any of his plans. It was after eleven at night. He was supposed to be buried so deep inside Duke right now that he’d never find his way out. He had planned a candlelit dinner. A horse and carriage ride through downtown Atlanta and then, then he was going to make love to him until dawn. But now…

Vaughan gulped, his forehead creasing as his hostility and anger grew. He would not lose Duke. He refused. He’d cut out both his kidneys and give them to… fuck! Vaughan pulled out his phone and got online while sitting right there in the men’s room.

After twenty minutes, he climbed off the floor. Vaughan hurried to the sink, quickly washing his hands and face, tucking his shirt back in. If he was doing what he was thinking of doing, he couldn’t look like an insane person. Vaughan power stepped all the way to the front desk. “I need to speak with Dr. Chauncey in the Nephrology Unit, it’s a life or death emergency.”

The help associate looked to be in her eighties but her eye was keen. Her nametag said Ginger Colmbs, Volunteer. She looked Vaughan up and down—even peeked behind him—before slowly picking up the receiver. He heard her mumble a few words into the phone before hanging up. She looked back at him and asked for his name. Vaughan paused.
Why does she need that?
As if she read his mind she added, “I need to sign you in. Dr. Chauncey is an attending surgeon here. I also need ID please.”

“Michael Palmer,” Vaughan said, and patted his shirt pockets, back pockets, and inside his blazer in a show of looking for his wallet. “Oh, no. Damnit. I left my wallet at home in my rush to get here.”

She was looking annoyed, but thank goodness, she typed a few keys on her computer and printed out a name badge for him. She pointed to a vast waiting area located at the front of the hospital next to the gift shop. “You can wait there for him. He’ll be down as soon as he can.”

Vaughan ran his hand through his hair and huffed a scared breath. His heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest. Was he still hurting like hell? Was he scared shitless over what he was about to do? Or was he terrified his plan might not work? All of the above. 

Vaughan was standing in front of the gift shop looking at a teddy bear with his arms wrapped around an “It’s a Boy” balloon. He’d jumped almost to the roof when he heard his name called.
Jeez. Calm down, V. You got this.
Vaughan walked up to the doctor, looking him in his eyes as he did. The man’s eyes lit with recognition when he got closer. Damn.

“I know that’s not your name so you can take that off. I remember from upstairs. You’re one of Mr. Morgan’s visitors,” the man said coolly.

Vaughan pulled off the nametag and crumbled it up. “I wanted to remain anonymous, Dr. Chauncey.”

“Anonymous for what?”

“I want to donate one of my kidneys to Mr. Morgan… one hundred percent anonymously. He can’t know.”

Dr. Chauncey frowned. “I know you’re not family because I already asked Mr. Morgan about that. So why can’t he know?”

“I looked this up. There are anonymous donations made all the time… right?”

“Well—”

Vaughan didn’t let him finish. “If the patient is willing to participate in a kidney transplant procedure the hospital is not legally obligated to tell the patient the donor’s identity.”

“Did a quick Google search, did ya?” Dr. Chauncey smirked and Vaughan almost grabbed the man by his throat. Did he think it was a goddamn game? A man’s—his man’s—life was at stake and the clock was ticking.

“Yes, I did. Regardless, I’m an educated man. Not in the degree of medicine but I’m a lawyer. I know my rights on this. I can donate my kidney if I want, and since I’m a living donor, I can also specify where it goes. I bet if I went over to another hospital and told them I was there to donate a perfectly good, working organ, they’d have a needle in my arm in ten seconds flat, testing my blood. Are you going to deny your patient a chance at a normal life?” Vaughan’s voice was rising and people were slowing down as they passed by them. Dr. Chauncey looked around before turning back to Vaughan with a stern expression.

“Lower your voice. And I didn’t say I was denying anything.”

“So you’ll do it!” Vaughan grabbed Dr. Chauncey’s biceps through his mid-thigh white lab coat.

“Wait. I didn’t say that either. There are an extensive number of tests that need to be done to determine compatibility, sir.”

“My name is Vaughan Webb, doctor.”

“Mr. Webb, the testing can take weeks. But most living donors can’t specify who they donate to because of blood type matching.”

“I’m O doctor. My blood type is O,” Vaughan said confidently. His blood matched with any and everyone’s, but most of all… Duke’s.

Dr. Chauncey arched a brow and Vaughan knew he had the guy; so like the lawyer he was, he kept driving his point. “I also know you don’t have to be one hundred percent compatible in other areas. I have the cash to do this right now, damn going through insurance bureaucracy. You can save his life, doctor. You can also speed up the process using your patient’s need right now. I saw that more hospitals are using the one-day donor evaluation method to make it easier on the donor. Please. I’m begging you. Let me do this.” Vaughan was terrified but his voice was strong. “Start the testing immediately, please, doctor.”

Dr. Chauncey pinched the bridge of his nose. “First of all, this isn’t Johns Hopkins; it’s going to take more than one day for your eval. Our transplant team is slightly smaller. Second, are you sure you’re O?”

“Are you sure of your blood type, doctor?” Vaughan’s composure was waning.

“Follow me.” Dr. Chauncey turned and started walking towards the elevators; Vaughan stopped him.

“I can’t go back up there. Someone could see me with you.”

Dr. Chauncey turned; his long narrow face was twisted. “Are you sure you need to be anonymous?”

“Du… Mr. Morgan is an extremely proud man. He’d never accept it, especially from me. That’s the god’s honest truth.”

“Are you an enemy that’s going to hold it over his head the rest of his life?”

“I’m the man that loves him… now
that
really is the god’s honest truth,” Vaughan said softly.

Dr. Chauncey’s brows rose almost into his hairline. Finally, the man got it. There were no more guessing games. Just being involved romantically with the recipient didn’t disqualify him to donate… that’s the first thing he’d Googled.

“Let’s go to the ER. We can start there.” Dr. Chauncey made a left down a long hallway.

Vaughan wanted to jump on the man’s back and kiss his cheek, but didn’t think that would go well on the psych evaluation he was going to have to undergo. Instead he choose humor to settle, hopefully, both of their nerves. “If I were Mr. Morgan’s enemy… wouldn’t the ultimate revenge be to sit by and let him die… not save his life? I don’t think revenge works the way I’m doing it.”

Dr. Chauncey didn’t turn to look at Vaughan, but he could see the corner of his mouth twitching as they continued to walk.
Yeah, doctor. You asked a dumbass question back there.